


Observation

by AnotherLoser



Series: Return of The Nogitsune [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demonic Possession, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Manipulation, Possessed Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Season 5, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherLoser/pseuds/AnotherLoser
Summary: “You want to miss them.” A statement, not a question. He nods.-Or, the truth is getting closer to unraveling but none of it will make sense unless you've read the rest of the series.
Relationships: Nogitsune/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Return of The Nogitsune [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1256108
Comments: 11
Kudos: 77





	1. Stiles

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Across the room, arms folded casually and back resting against the wall, Yako tilts his head with a look on his face as if Stiles was the fool. In turn the human rolls his eyes and turns away to collect a pair of mostly clean pants from the floor.

“I’m not some white trash-y sociopath, alright?” He huffs. Yako taps his foot. It wasn’t uncommon for the spirit to be silent, but it was stranger due to the fact they were alone. Stiles didn’t need to hide his reactions, so why was Yako? Wondering puts the human on edge. Shaking his head, he rises to his feet when the rush hits him.

The room spinning and Stiles’ head throbbing in protest, one hand come up to press against his temple and the other reaching out blindly for something to hold onto— finding Yako’s hand waiting.

“ _Either you care for the vessel or I do_.” The spirit explains. As the world rights itself again, Stiles tugs away from the other’s hold. “Can’t you just magic-heal my dehydration or whatever?” He snaps, making his way out of the room and towards the stairs.

“ _Not how it works_.”

“Why not? You can heal a stab wound but not an empty stomach?”

“ _Exactly. I need fuel just like you do, Stiles._ ”

“Yeah, I know that.” He sighs, and he did. The coffee maker rumbles in the background where he pauses. “I just don’t get the limitations sometimes. There’s not that much logic in this stuff.”

“ _I guess there’s not._ ”

Sighing, the human turns to face the counter, hands braced on the surface and his head lowered. Whiskey colored hues track the coffee dripping, running, and sputtering again. Yako’s cold form comes up from behind and presses against Stiles’ own. Their feet knock together silently, hands rest on his waist and the human wonders when this stopped making him shudder– was he so used to it now or was his body really no warmer?

“ _Stop overthinking_.” The words are spoken against his shoulder. “ _It’s early. It’s still break, technically. Your dad won’t be home until after six tonight. Calm down already. Rest. Eat_.” Stiles shakes his head but Yako was already continuing. “ _You were doing well, your heart was good, sleep is good still. Why the change?_ ”

“I really don’t think you’ll get it, buddy.” He mutters.

“ _I’ll listen anyway_.”

What had his life come to when the only person who offered and meant it was within his own mind? A killer at that? Then again, the other killers he knew were some of the easiest to trust. “Things are changing. I’m bad with change.” Obvious. Easy to read for an outsider who observes him long enough. Yako was well versed in Stiles’ inner workings, though he doesn’t point that out now, instead letting his host explain on his own time. “We’re seniors. We’re graduating soon enough, and this is the part where everyone says we’ll keep in touch but the second we leave we’ll start to drift. And I feel like… I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to do with myself. Scott has a plan, even Malia knows where she wants to go at least. All my _maybe’s_ from before don’t feel like they fit now. And I feel like it should be more upsetting than it actually is.”

Regardless of the other’s presence still lurking against his back, Stiles shuffles one way and then back, collecting a mug from the cabinets and filling it with his caffeine fix.

“ _You want to miss them_.” A statement, not a question. He nods.

[…]

Scott keeps staring at him. Even Lydia - observant, occasionally devious, downright clever Lydia - hasn't been watching him this closely. Stiles can't decide if his friend was holding something back or trying to figure something out. He didn't look angry though. He was far from distant or closed off. Only he clearly had something on his mind and for once he wasn't voicing it, even when his human companion asks.

It was as unsettling as it was annoying.

With all Stiles has hidden from him over the years but especially as of late, it puts him on edge to have these eyes on him. Yet knowing Scott couldn't possibly be aware what was really going on and certainly wouldn't watch quietly if he did, it gets on his nerves to have a taste of his own medicine. To know his best friend was keeping something to himself like this. He'd say it wasn't fair, except for the fact that it truly was, and wasn't that just the cherry on top?

He thinks Yako was curious as well, because he keeps sitting closer to the wolf even if Stiles is the only one who could see him, let alone feel his presence. There was something going on, only while the human was weary of it, his headmate seems to simply want to watch it unfold. See who cracked first- Stiles assumed such when Yako started sending him little smirks from the other side of Scott.

As it was with most things, this was just entertainment to him.

[...]

“Hey, Stiles... What was that text? Call me back dude.”

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it... and that’s fine, I can respect that, but dude you’re really starting to freak me out.”

“Stiles, please answer your phone- call me back, text me, send an email— something? After everything we’ve been through dodging calls is not cool... I’m coming over if I don’t hear back.”

He woke to voicemails from Scott and no recollection of any text message. Opening the app brings him straight to the conversation with Scott but initially the screen is taken up entirely with his friend’s messages rather than anything of his own.

Five, six, seven all demanding to know what was happening.

Scott wasn’t in the room come daylight though. A poke outside the bedroom doesn’t alert Stiles to any voices downstairs. The bathroom was clean, and upon going down he doesn’t find evidence of any disturbances or visitors either.

The house was silent, it’s condition ordinary- there were even dinner plates still in the sink from the night before.

“Yako.” His voice sounds too loud after such a careful search of his surroundings. Even louder is his headmate humming in affirmation behind him. “What did you do last night?”

The demon walks past him, humming again, hands clasped behind his back innocently. Stiles squints. “Yako.” He can feel his pulse quickening.

“ _You mean_ ,” he stops by the back door and turns to the human with a sly grin. “ _What did_ we _do, Stiles._ ”

He doesn’t want to look. He had been demanding answers, ready to fight for them but in a matter of moments of the determination has left him to be replaced with utter dread.

Before he knows it, he’s looking out the window anyway, and he’s met with a blood bath.

“ _I’m hungry, Stiles_.” Yako’s breath hits his ear hotly, but the sound of his voice was so far away.

Scott’s head was on a pike.

There was an arm sticking up out of the ground. A leg, too. His body must have been ripped apart, the limbs scattered but not in haste— no, it was meticulous how each piece was buried in the ground to stand on their own like tree saplings.

Stiles could practically smell the rotting blood from inside now. His eyes stung, his lungs didn’t work properly and neither did his own body for that matter; trembling from head to toe, joints locked, adrenaline pumping through his blood much too fast, too suddenly.

Stiles blinks. The heels of his hands press into his eyes and rub back and forth, blinking again.

“No, no, no— Yako you didn’t!” His voice cracks with the attempt at a firm shout.

“ _You’re right_.” He turns around, eyes wide and frantic as he’s made to look around a now empty room. “ _I’m hungry, Stiles_.” The voice comes from behind again, and again the human spins to look at his counterpart.

The backyard was clean.

[...]

In a group Stiles could disappear. His energy levels were constantly in flux, his voice carried loud, his gestures and demeanor demanded attention, but when the circumstance was right none of that mattered. This was not a new development, he had always been a background character to most. When he wasn’t being a spectacle, he wasn’t much of anything. It’s always been as surprisingly helpful as it was potentially depressing.

At least this way he can make his best observations without other influence. He can try to discern reality from what his headmate tells him alone or he can get Yako’s opinion without spacing out in the conversation.

The Hales used to call him out for it more often. If everyone else was shaking their heads, too busy with their own tasks or otherwise ignoring him, Derek would always catch Stiles’ voice and acknowledge it. Peter would point out the state of him, ask for the input he was clearly brewing on his own if only to throw off the momentum of everyone else.

This wasn’t so much the case now. They’ve all adjusted, it seemed, as he slowly pulls himself out of their view, including Scott himself, contrary to whatever he was trying to do recently.

Stiles used to spend this time ignoring the demon with all the will power he had left. Silently arguing with it when he couldn’t otherwise, debunking the theories for his own sake. He isn’t sure which was dumber between the way it used to be and the way it was now.

Yako has theories about Scott. Most of them Stiles didn’t want to hear, but he’s been getting those looks for long enough that he’s beginning to open up to the notion that something was going on behind his back genuinely, not only out of a paranoid inkling.

“ _He doesn’t know about me_.” He couldn’t, they agreed there. If Scott had any feeling that the demon was still beneath his friend’s skin, he’d be trying to dig it out long before now. “ _So what does he know_?”

He knew that Stiles still had trouble sleeping. He knew that Malia hasn’t been sneaking into the Stilinski home as often, but she used to.

“ _Maybe the coyote said something_.”

Maybe, but what she could have caught onto was a different subject entirely. For now, they focus on Scott. He also knew Stiles’ heart struggled from time to time, believes that this was a current problem more than it was.

Was he merely concerned? There wasn’t anything else.


	2. Scott

“Stilinski-”

It wasn’t abnormal for Stiles to be asleep at inconvenient times. Granted, he was typically more restless at school, whether diving into the subjects or mentally running off with his own. But given the fact that his sleeping patterns have never been the best, and in recent years they’ve gotten even worse after fighting for their lives when they should be sleeping, it wasn’t strange to see him nodding off at some point during the school day.

The problem was that they were in gym early to keep up with Lacrosse training before the season began and his friend was asleep on the locker room floor while everyone else was waiting on them. And watching. Because no matter how many crazy things happened in Beacon Hills, how many things the general population did turn a blind eye to, or how paranoid the whole school should be after all of the times police have had to turn up at the high school- no one knew how to mind their own business. As soon as the coach realized someone was missing the majority of the class followed him in to search for the trouble maker, finding the same thing that Scott did.

Stiles Stilinski taking a nap with his back against his gym locker.

That too would be fine if not for more recent events, really. None of the pack were oblivious to the way their peers looked at them anymore. Stints in mental institutions, disappearing acts, commotion in class, and an unusual presence at crime scenes. Hell, in Beacon Hills they would have been gossiped about just for being seen hanging around the Hales, but after everything the standard just kept getting higher by their own misfortunes.

Everyone knew something was wrong with Stiles, and Scott was just as aware of that fact. He thought something was wrong too, only for different reasons.

Ever since the Nogitsune there had been something different; at first it was obvious, Stiles didn’t want to see anyone, no one wanted to talk about it, everyone was struggling to process the tragedy that the demon brought upon them.

But then life continues on. Beacon Hills calmed down. The pack mourned their losses. Scott learned to communicate with his mom better, Malia turned to him for guidance as she learned her powers, Lydia stopped avoiding her best friend’s name. Their eyes stopped being so tired. Color came back to pale skin and healthy routine returned to life.

Even Stiles looked better for a while.

These days it was hit or miss. Some days he looked like he was a million miles away, others it was like nothing ever happened. Sometimes it was obvious he hadn’t slept a wink and sometimes he was healthy as a horse.

The past few weeks - or months? It was hard to tell sometimes - he seemed distant. His heart was always either oddly faint or much too fast, even if only for brief moments. He always felt cold physically when Scott was close to him. He doesn’t reach out when he was tired anymore. He barely starts any conversations with any of the group at all, really. It was always as if his mind was simply somewhere else, and Scott didn’t have any idea how to reach him anymore.

It had been such a subtle change, one of those things that built bit by bit rather than all at once- truthfully Scott couldn’t say when he thinks it began. And maybe that was the worst part; he didn’t even realize something could be going on with his best friend until he was already in the weeds and now even attempting to hint at it lead to rejection.

He wanted to sort it out carefully. He wanted to find the problem, find the solution to it, and then offer his findings before Stiles could brush it aside.

But now he was trying to wake up someone prone to night terrors with their class watching and the most impatient and abrasive teaching in the building looking over his shoulder.

Scott tries to interject when the coach’s first attempt doesn’t get anything more than an absentminded hum, gently placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder and jostling him just as kindly.

“Hey, Stiles-” He tries, but Finstock was already crouching down and leaning in until his face was mere inches from the other teenager. One quick breath in and he was bellowing in the human’s face,

“STILINSKI!”

It wasn’t good for any of them though.

Stiles wakes all at once; his entire body jerking back, one leg kicking out and the other drawn up to his chest, arms shot up to shield his head, but there wasn’t enough room for any of it. He kicked their teacher in the shin, his hand hit the man’s face on the way up, and with no room to flee he only ends up squirming sideways onto the floor.

It might be funny to someone else - Scott might even hear a chuckle on the far end of the room at first - he might even have laughed himself under normal circumstances, but normally Stiles wouldn’t have been yelling back.

He wouldn’t be curling up like he’d have his intestines ripped out if he didn’t.

“Don’t touch me!” shouldn’t sound so frantic.

But that’s the scene that unfolds.

[...]

No one else really knew what was going on besides Scott but he couldn’t very well explain that in the moment, and so when his best friend is cowering on the corner and the only adult in the room tells everyone - and specifically Scott - to get out of the room, he shuts his mouth tight and does so reluctantly.

Besides, leaving the locker room doesn’t mean he couldn’t know what was going on inside, unlike the rest of their class.

“It’s- I’m fine, seriously,” He bites his lip at the trembling in his friend’s voice.

“Kid you’re _shaking_ , you look like you’re about to piss yourself on my floor.”

“It- it’s fine, I’ve…”

“Done this before? Yeah, I know.” A pause. “Hey, I’m not stupid. I don’t know what exactly happened here but you don’t get thrown in the loony bin for nothing. Not to mention the death rate at this school is fucking insane.”

“I...I guess.”

“Exactly. So don’t worry about this, just take some deep breaths or whatever they taught you in therapy.”

Another pause, this time the loudest thing in the room being Stiles’ careful breathing. After a moment though, he adds with a breathy little attempt at a laugh, “Didn’t really get therapy in the mad house, mostly just drugs.”

“...Damn. Where do I sign in?”

The rest of the class disperses. Without the hype in their view, no one was going to linger even if they did care about what was going on inside on some level. About half of the class sits on the side lines after that while the rest run laps or drills and Scott continues to wait dutifully by the door.

“You know I have to ask though…” It might be the most hesitant he’s ever heard Finstock’s voice. “If someone specific is hurting you, I’m obligated to report it but we could try to sort it out with as few waves as possible. If other people knowing is a thing you’re worried about, or-”

“Woah, hey, no- coach, thank you, like seriously, that’s really great and all but I’m fine. Okay...Maybe not, but it’s not like that. There’s no one to arrest for what’s wrong with me. So no sweat.”

“...If you say so.”

[...]

They don’t talk about it afterwards. Not immediately, at least. He wants to ask, desperately. He wants to know what it was exactly that Stiles was so frightened of. What was tiring him so often, keeping him up at night, quieting his voice recently, who he thought was grabbing for him in the middle of his nap. If he knew that Scott was listening when he chose the specific wording he did when talking to their coach.

But Scott has never been good at confrontation. Stiles was the bold one. He had so little filter for the majority of their lives, Scott rarely had to bring it up for them to talk about whatever was on either of their minds. Stiles blurted out his own and prodded at his friend until and unless he was told to do otherwise, and Scott rarely asked him to stop when it was so helpful to them both.

Looking back now, he’s beginning to realize that it’s been a while since that dynamic was the norm. But how did he not notice before? Was it really so gradual that even Stiles’ best friend hadn’t realized how withdrawn he’s become? The silence around them walking down the hall doesn’t feel out of place, only heavier because of Scott’s thought process meanwhile. He has to wonder at the end of it all, was it only him feeling the breaking point approaching, or was Stiles just as restless? Looking at the human now, it was getting harder and harder to tell.

“Are you busy tonight?”

Stiles seems caught off by the sudden question, blinking before answering. “Uh, kind of. I just have some errands I need to run for my dad but I wasn’t planning on it until after later so.. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to talk to you about something.” Scott shrugs, trying for nonchalance. After a passing moment though, his friend’s steps slow to a stop.

“I don’t want to talk about the locker room. My nightmares get fucked sometimes still, that’s all it was and we really don’t need to go into detail about it, so…”

“That’s not what I meant.. Okay it kind of was, but that’s just a part of it. I’m worried about you, man.”

Something was different then. There’s a sour scent in the air, a stronger set to Stiles’ jaw despite the lopsided grin he tries to plaster on over top.

“I’m fine, Scotty. Don’t overthink it.”

He sounded sure. Confident. But a wolf's nose wasn't easily fooled. Neither was Scott's gut when he had known his friend so well for so long. He knows something was off, he just needed to find out why.


	3. Yako

"They think I'm crazy. Even fucking Finstock thinks I'm out of my mind." The young man mumbles, his grip on the steering wheel tightening and twisting before easing up again. It was a rhythm as he drives, squeezing his fists as tight as he could and releasing, slowly, but like a pulse. In the corner of his eye he could see Yako in the passenger seat. He imagines the demon must be smug, though by now he was accustomed to looking ahead as if nothing was there at all. "And you don't get it, do you?" He snaps. "This is a problem for both of us!"

" _How so_?"

"You think I can help you feed if everyone has their eyes on me? If everybody is wondering where Stilinski was when X, Y, or Z, happened? The people who get away with crimes aren't suspicious in the first place, but thanks to you and your little mind games I didn't even know for sure if I was awake until _after_ that conversation."

He catches movement, spares a glance, thus meeting the fox's eyes. It was bizarre sometimes still to meet a gaze so much like his own. Paler skin, sharper nails, eyes so dark they didn't even look brown anymore except in particular light. Sometimes he thinks Yako's gums were black, his teeth were pointed, but those moments come and go. Maybe it was a weakness in his disguise. It wasn't as if this was his real form- in fact the bandaged man Stiles initially met wasn't the real Yako either. That was merely the soldier from his last revival, wasn't it? If Stiles were to be consumed, killed- however it worked, he wonders if the next unlucky soul to meet the demon would see his face before their own. Most likely. A trickster, a shapeshifter, he had no reason to expose himself when he could use another's form.

" _Watch the road, Stiles_."

"Right." He looks ahead.

" _What do you suggest? To resolve the problem?_ "

"I..." He pauses, wetting his lips nervously. "I don't know, okay? Stop giving me fucked up visions when you're moody? Help me tell the difference between that shit and reality again?"

Silence, for but a single moment. " _Pull over._ "

"What?" Stiles blinks.

" _Pull the car over._ "

There's something ominous about any orders Yako has to give, yet the human obeys almost without a second thought. He had just asked for help, after all. There was no use in arguing.

Only once the Jeep was tucked off of the road did he realize that the timing couldn't have been more perfect; after one car passes him there was no one else in sight. This part of the road was in between the rest of town and neighborhoods. It would only be a few minutes in either direction to reach civilization, but this was the path he drove on every day, where he could divert towards the full woods or continue to his normal destinations. And now he was alone with the fox sharing his head.

"Okay... What now?"

Yako reaches over quickly, takes one of the human's hands off the wheel and cradles it in his own palm. His nails were claws again, thick and dark and shining like metallic when the sunlight hits them through the windshield. Neither of them speaks, both focused on the task at hand though Stiles still didn't have a clue what that exactly was. His heart was beating faster, his chest tightening as the other's cold, _cold_ fingers travel up his arm.

_Too much, not enough-_

They both knew what was under his sleeve. Inner arm, only where a T-shirt could hide them, just as it was around his hips, on the top of his thighs where any gym shorts were sure to cover. _Coping mechanisms_. Like pulling his hair when his mom got sick and he was desperate for a way to ground himself amidst his first panic attacks. Until he buzzed it off, of course, thinking that if he removed the means he was hurting himself he'd stop. Unaware that he'd just decide he liked something worse better.

He doesn't do it often anymore. A best friend that smelled blood a mile away made it hard. Everyone grew accustomed to Stiles' natural odor mixing with disinfectant but still, the desire seems to have left him ever since Yako found him the first time around. Ironic, he supposed, that he had more reason to be stressed than ever before and yet he gave up his primary coping mechanism at the same time.

Yako pushes his sleeve up, the other hand reaching out to press the tip of one claw against the scarred skin. He can't watch beyond that point. Instead he looks at the demon's eyes, scanning the cool and collected face for a sign of _something_ that might clue him in or at the very least resemble emotion. When skin breaks, Stiles inhales but doesn't flinch. It only takes a few moments for Yako to draw what he wanted in his flesh, undoubtedly creating another scar to feel for years to come. It feels so much longer, but Stiles couldn't blame him this time. It wasn't an illusion so much as his own adrenaline that created the effect, though how he was so sure, he didn't know.

" _Bandage it at the house, it'll be healed tomorrow._ " Yako explains as he withdraws.

_Not enough, never enough._

" _Feel it when you're unsure and it'll tell you._ " Stiles feels blood beginning to run down his arm when he lowers it. It will drip onto his pants if he raises it to hold the wheel with both hands again, he notes even as he puts the Jeep back into drive and does just that.

"How?"

" _It's a sigil. There's a spell attached. They're not as powerful as a ceremony's would be but the druids and witches like them for small things. Peaceful sleep, extra stamina, faster recovery, good luck. So congratulations, Stiles, you can now check in real time if you are in fact awake._ "

[...]

It’s been some time since Stiles had to lie to his dad about where he was going. Since the sheriff came to understand what his son and friends were up to all of the time there wasn’t much point in pretending. They worked better when they were honest anyway. Stiles can’t help but feel he should be rusty, given this. It seems he wasn’t at all though. And maybe he could blame that on hiding Yako from everyone, or maybe it was the trust Noah had in him for his honesty this far, or maybe he simply wasn’t thinking about it. He still had his own job, his own concerns, and sometimes he was still distracted.

He tells his dad he was going to Scott's for the night, no he wasn't listening to the police scanners, yes they planned on staying in the whole time unless a creature came storming and someone called them directly for help. He leaves with a backpack on his shoulder entirely overlooked as simply clothes for tomorrow and perhaps some specific dvds he wanted as options.

Then they drive downtown, farther than strictly necessary to be sure they were out of Noah's district. Stiles parks at the next gas station, strolls into the bathroom with the bag he doesn't want to open until morning and locks the door behind himself.

" _Easy now_..." Unflinching, the human places his hands on either side of the sink and hangs his head, takes a breath. " _This isn't you... What's in there is for me._ "

"I picked it out."

" _You did. And what's the harm in that?_ "

"It's still my _body_ , Yako." He mumbles. "Our body... I don't know- it was mine first, at least. And I don't like... I don't want-"

" _You don't have to do anything, if you allow me. Wasn't that the plan? You're getting weak too, Stiles, and if you wont take the smaller steps to keep us fed..._ "

"I'm not going to kill stray cats for you to snack on! Jesus... Just- just stop, okay, I get it. I understand what you're saying, I just..."

" _You don't even have to remember it if you don't want_." From beside the mirror, Yako reaches out to tap on the boy's forehead. " _I'll turn the lights off_." And it was a sweet offer in it's own morbid way. Ignorance was bliss, so they say. And Yako had rooted through the entirety of Stiles' memories. He knew plenty about guilt complexes and paranoia, closeted interests and insecurities, fear of his own moral compass at times. Given this, it shouldn't come as a surprise to the demon that he replies with a shake of his head.

"No. I can't just... Pretend I don't know what's happening. I can watch." Regardless Yako pauses- waiting, apparently, for Stiles to meet his eyes.

" _Take a deep breath_."

He does.

" _Close your eyes_."

He does.

" _Now let go_."

[...]

He doesn't even need to talk to them. He could, certainly. He fooled his host's friends and family without breaking a sweat, and now Yako had an even more intimate knowledge of the boy's inner workings than he did back then. Playing the right part amidst a room full of strangers would be no problem. It just wasn't necessary. He plays the game better than that.

The music is obnoxious and downright painful to the spirit's keen ears. The smell of sweat and various body sprays almost makes him wish he had a plug for his nose, not to mention the potent alcohol. But the room is full of men far too trusting of one another, all ripe for the picking.

They lean on each other because of a sense of community, that was clear. Otherwise, couldn't they go somewhere else? Mix with all sorts rather than their specific sexual interests? Here they were safe. Here they knew what they were looking for and likely how to get it. They drink, they lick up little tabs and inhale powder off of each other's fingers and lose themselves to as much sensation as they can find. It's a building full of budding pleasure, he can smell it, but that wasn't what he was looking for. Leeching off of a man in his bedroom or a back alley or wherever they were likely to go at this day and age- it was fun in good health, not when Yako was stretched so thin trying to live off of teenage angst for so long. He needed a meal- a feast, even. And unfortunately for the host, it wouldn't be hard to obtain. Yako slips into the crowd easily with their lithe body, dressed in tight pants and an over-sized shirt, shiny metal on his wrists and around his neck, sporting a touch of makeup under his eyes in a disguise for the hunt that Stiles selected for this very reason. It doesn't take long to lure in their prey with the right appearance, the right movements, the right expression when their eyes meet.

The one that bites is older but not massively. He smells like vodka but moves easily, fitting against the demon's back and keeping pace precisely. Yako tips his head back at a point, looking up at the man before he ducks down to lavish the host body's neck in attention. Fingers link together on his hips, teeth graze and pinch the skin over his throat, and then his pray pulls away just enough to ask into his ear, "You lookin' for something, baby?"

Yako hums. "What do you got for me?"

He can feel the grin against his cheek before the stranger presses even closer to bring attention to the soft bulge in the front of his jeans.

That was fine. Maybe they'd play with him first for the hell of it. Stiles seemed to be expecting it, but maybe that was the human's own repressed interests effecting him more than he realizes.

It wouldn't hurt anything to indulge them both, so long as the fox got what he wanted at the end of the evening as well.

They do in fact end up in the alley outside, nestled between the club and a business already closed down for the night. Hidden from the street lights and the moon alike. What follows their exit moves fast; heavy breathing, tight grips, each man with a hand on the other's dick with barely enough room between them to slide and tug as fast as they do.

Somewhere, Stiles was covering his ears when their prey moans into his mouth. He was turning his back on the scene by the time zippers were being pulled down. Hiding from the sight didn't mean he wouldn't feel the exact same sensations though, not now and not later. And that was his choice by being awake for the whole thing.

It wasn't really this he was afraid of anyway. No, what truly horrified him was the claws growing from their shared fingertips. The inky color washing over their teeth as the bones sharpen. How good the blood tastes when Yako bites down on the other man's tongue. In his shock he tries to jerk away, Yako only holds tighter until the muscle severs completely in half. And the screams, as delicious as they sound, become a part of the background similar to the blaring music inside and occasional car passing on the nearest street.

Their victim stumbling backwards with mouth agape and eyes overflowing with tears, the demon follows with a gulp, swallowing human tongue. It wasn't any wonder why these were the ideal prey; animals would flail and scream and fight. Humans though, they were emotional with all of the same instincts with an advanced understanding of their own pain. Depression, terror, dread. They cry when they bleed as well as when they don't. Words could hurt them almost as well as true violence. Those games simply weren't as filling. Sustaining himself wasn't the same as this quick, deep feeling of gratification.

Yako shoots his arm forward in a blink, claws cutting into the man's gut and curling- gripping him by a fist full of flesh. The demon's other hand covers his mouth, muffling the choked off wails of dismay. Like this, he doesn't have to be drinking it to taste the metallic of blood. It's in the air, on his skin, pouring onto the ground as the fox twists his hand back and forth. The agony shakes the man's entire frame, and Yako can't help but do so as well.

Sweet, sweet misery.

Grey lines weave up his arm as he takes it all in, slack jawed and drooling. His now closed fist pulls back, skin and slivers of intestines coming with it only to be dropped immediately. With all of his weight, he takes his prey to the ground, back to the brick, climbing onto his soaked lap. “Shh... Screaming doesn’t help anybody now,” he says in a low voice, words slightly slurred by both his sharp teeth and heavy breaths. “You’ll bleed out before help can come, even if anyone heard you. You’re mine now, in these last moments...” And ordinarily the pleading made it better, the screams made his stomach growl, just not in this place, at this hour. It couldn’t be everything that he craved, but it was enough. Good enough to seal with a kiss as his wet claws slid over the man’s chest, up to his throat, and inward.

The body wouldn’t be found. The blood, perhaps. Not the body. Stiles wasn’t ready for the level of chaos that could come from some monster ripping a man apart like he would to hide the evidence. Eventually they would terrify the entire city, leave the trail of a serial killer without human DNA to be tracked, just to watch them all squirm. To see the horror in the next victim’s eyes as they realize who they were speaking to. This was only the first, and Yako needed to play nice. Team work, he’s been learning, made a much more interesting game with this host in particular.

So by the time Stiles came to completely it would already be noon, he would already be showered and dressed for the day, the body would be in pieces all six feet deep and scattered across a wood no where near his wolf’s playing ground. Most importantly, however, is that he wouldn’t be exhausted for a while. He wouldn’t trip over his feet, stumbling into doors, eyes hollow and skin dull. They were fed now, him and Yako both. Now is when their body would thrive.


End file.
